Holy Habits: I Don't Have a Care

Refusing the Temptation to Worry

Sitting at my desk this morning, working on a project that allowed me some space to read in between, I came across a story by Kenneth Hagin—and it revealed some timely revelation!

The past few years have been a journey of increasing faith for me. Not just believing that God can do things, but choosing to believe Him for impossible things. Because if we say He’s the God of the impossible, then faith has to move beyond words and into how we actually live, speak, and think.

What I didn’t fully expect was this:

When God invites you to step out in faith in deeper ways, the battles that come are often the very ones designed to test what you say you believe. Right? LOL! Thus, the reason that many of us don’t pray for patience. LOL!

When income suddenly stops—that will get your attention.
When your health starts talking—yes, that too.

When I say a river hit, a river hit… like a flood.

Now, the season hasn’t ended. But something has shifted.

The weight of it. The heaviness. The constant pressure.

They’re not 100% gone, but they’re fading—slowly drifting back down the river where they belong. And honestly, I’m ecstatic!

Even so, this morning I caught myself slipping.

I started floating around some worry-filled thoughts about the Joy Revolution conference. And just like that, the enemy began taunting me with familiar lies:

Who do you think you are to put together a conference like this?
You don’t know anyone around here outside your church.
Who would even want to come?

And yes—I went down worry lane for a few hours. I won’t pretend otherwise.

I’ve walked the faith walk most of my life, but this season has stretched me in new ways. It’s not about learning faith—it’s about strengthening it. Choosing, again and again, to believe God beyond what I can see or explain. And that tension between feeling and faith has marked this season.

It’s also made me realize something else.

I think we’ve lost something in our society in the way we talk to one another.

We’ve become really good at gathering around our struggles—our trials, our battles, our hardships. And don’t misunderstand me—there is a time and place to be real, to process, to share those things with trusted people and that’s even scriptural.

Ecclesiastes 4:9–10 (NLT)

Two people are better off than one, for they can help each other succeed. If one person falls, the other can reach out and help. But someone who falls alone is in real trouble.

But somewhere along the way, we stopped challenging one another to believe God for more—and it often starts with how we’re talking.

Scripture tells us to encourage one another and build each other up (1 Thessalonians 5:11), yet we’ve normalized talking in the battle instead of from the victory.

We pray prayers of faith, then wrap our conversations—and our lives—in doubt and unbelief afterward. And yet we’re reminded that faith comes by hearing (Romans 10:17). What we repeatedly hear—and say—shapes what we believe.

When all we talk about is what’s wrong, how do we ever rise up and believe God for what’s possible? Scripture is clear that life and death are in the power of the tongue (Proverbs 18:21). The battle may be real, but it was never meant to become the language that defines us.

That’s when the story I was reading this morning resonated so deeply within me.

I Don’t Have a Care

Kenneth Hagin shared about a season early in his ministry when he stepped into pastoring a church at just twenty-one years old. The church itself had been around longer than he had been alive. Some of the people sitting in the pews had been baptized in the Holy Spirit years before he ever took his first breath.

And to make matters heavier, the church wasn’t peaceful. It had problems—long-standing ones. The kind that don’t get solved with a quick meeting or a well-worded sermon.

He knew something needed to be said. He just didn’t know what to say. And the fear that followed was paralyzing: What if I say the wrong thing? What if I make it worse? I’m only 21 years old.

One Sunday morning, the weight of it all settled in deeper than usual. He became so wrapped up in thinking about the problems, the responsibility, and his own sense of inadequacy that he didn’t even realize what was happening.

Before he knew it, he found himself outside, pacing the yard next to the parsonage.

He later said he didn’t even remember walking out there.

And that’s when it hit him.

He stopped mid-step and thought, What am I doing out here?

That’s when he realized the truth—he had given in to worry. He had allowed the care of the church, the pressure of leadership, and the fear of failure to sit on his shoulders.

And he knew better.

Right there, standing in that yard, he made a decision.

He spoke it out loud: I refuse to worry.

He reminded himself of Scripture—casting all your care upon Him, for He cares for you.

Then he did something simple, but powerful. He turned the responsibility over to God. Bam!!

He told the Lord, “I’ll preach the Word. I’ll love people well. I’ll visit the sick. I’ll do what You’ve asked me to do. But I’m not carrying this anymore. I can’t fix it anyway. These burdens are Yours.”

And in that moment, something lifted.

He said it was as if the weight he had been carrying was suddenly gone. He walked into church that morning happy—singing, free—and the Spirit of God met them in a powerful way. The service was marked by joy, freedom, and the tangible presence of God.

Later, when he began gathering regularly with other pastors in the areas for their monthly meeting, they would ask him the same question over and over:

“How’s the battle going?”

As that was always the main thing they’d all discuss. Their battles, difficulties, and struggles.

But his answer always caught them off guard.

“I don’t have a care.”

They didn’t buy it. They knew the problems in his church. Some of them even listed them off to each other, shaking their heads. A few assumed he was naïve. Others thought he was irresponsible.

But what they didn’t understand was this:

He wasn’t saying problems didn’t exist.
He was saying he wasn’t carrying them.

He explained it like this: if you give something away, you no longer possess it. The cares were real—but they weren’t his anymore. He had handed them to the Lord.

And because of that, when someone asked how he was doing, he could honestly say, “I don’t have a care.”

Not because his life as a Pastor was easy but because the burden had changed hands.

Refusing to Keep Carrying

And that’s the moment this became more than a story for me.

This is a Holy Habit.

Because Holy Habits aren’t just about what we add to our spiritual lives—they’re also about what we refuse to keep carrying.

Worry doesn’t just show up once in a while. It tries to settle in. To get comfortable. To become familiar—almost like a bestie we didn’t invite but somehow learned to live with.

It becomes something we rehearse, something we speak, something we unintentionally nurture. And if we’re honest, it can become so familiar that when it’s not there, we almost go looking for it—like something’s missing.

That’s when I was reminded of something I heard Karen Wheaton say just last week:
“You cannot carry familiar things into a new season.”

That stopped me.

Because new seasons require exchange. They require letting go of what’s familiar so we can make room for what God is doing now. And sometimes the very thing we’re clinging to isn’t comfort—it’s worry.

Here’s another revelation the Lord has been showing me:
worry is a temptation.

We don’t usually think of it that way, but it is. And just like any other temptation, it’s something we’re invited to resist—not entertain, rehearse, or carry forward into what God is building next.

And faith requires us to resist it.

We can’t believe the lie—even for a moment—that says, “If I don’t worry about it, am I denying the problem?” No, we’re not. Choosing not to worry isn’t denial; it’s positioning. It’s saying, “I don’t have a care,” not because the situation isn’t real, but because that care has been handed over to Jesus—right where it belongs.

Yes, this takes discipline. It’s a daily practice of choosing to cast your cares on the Lord instead of rehearsing them. But you’re not doing this alone. The Lord is with you, helping you every step of the way. And when you activate faith, it pleases Him. I can picture Him right there in that moment, speaking life into your heart as you choose not to activate worry, but instead stand in victory rather than narrating the battle.

It’s like I talked about earlier this week when I shared about how the enemy taunts us. Worry is probably his number one strategy—because if he can get us to worry about what we see, you can almost watch the faith meter in your life slowly start to drop.

And that’s exactly why resisting worry isn’t optional.
It’s essential.

What We Do After We Pray

This is what I had to do today.

I had already prayed about the Joy Revolution conference. I had already committed it to the Lord. So when worry tried to pull me back into old patterns at the crack of dawn, I had to stop and ask myself—why am I still carrying something I’ve already given to God?

Holy Habits remind us that faith isn’t proven in prayer alone. It’s proven in what we do after we pray.

The battle belongs to the Lord.
The cares belong to Him too.

And if I’ve already given them away, I don’t need to keep checking on them.

So go ahead and ask me, “Tracee how are the battles going?”

My response: “I don’t have a care….” (because I gave them to Jesus) and so can you!

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Holy Habits Reflection

1. What worries have I been rehearsing that God has already asked me to give Him?
2. In this season, am I more practiced at talking in the battle—or standing from the victory?

Let these questions sit with you today. Holy Habits are formed not just by what we do occasionally, but by what we consistently choose—every single day we live.

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Scripture to Anchor This Habit

I Don’t Have a Care

Matthew 11:28–30 (NLT)
“Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you. Let me teach you, because I am humble and gentle at heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy to bear, and the burden I give you is light.”

1 Peter 5:7 (NLT)
Give all your worries and cares to God, for He cares about you.

2 Corinthians 10:5 (NLT)
We capture their rebellious thoughts and teach them to obey Christ.

Hebrews 11:6 (NLT)
It is impossible to please God without faith.